


I’ll do anything you say (if you say it with your hands)

by stilinskitrash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bellarke, Childhood Friends, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fist Fights, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, New Year's Eve, Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 08:44:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14185230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskitrash/pseuds/stilinskitrash
Summary: 5 times Clarke patched Bellamy up (and definitely didn’t like it), and 1 time she didn’t have to.AKA, a “you’re my clumsy roommate and I’m a nursing/med student and am constantly patching you up under the guise of ‘gaining experience’ but I just really like taking care of you/touching you” AU





	I’ll do anything you say (if you say it with your hands)

**Author's Note:**

> I be out here just tryna fill the void before S5 when we are hopefully not let down and bellarke are finally canon  
> Spent a while editing this so hopefully it’s pretty smooth!  
> Fic title from Taylor Swift’s “Treacherous”

**June 29th 2001**

 

  
The first time she patched him up, she used Finding Nemo plasters. Clarke had been saving them for _ages_ , unwilling to use or part with them.

They were both just kids; respectively 11 and 16. Bellamy was the cool, older brother of Clarke’s best friend, Octavia. Clarke was the small, annoyingly intelligent kid who hung out at the Blake’s most weekends and afternoons after school.

When Bellamy tripped over Clarke’s scooter outside the front door on his way into the house, it felt only right that she surrender the plasters to him, thinking it would cheer him up in the process. Bellamy tolerated his sisters’ best friend; he tolerated when he found her in his bedroom, rooting through his book collection. He tolerated her incessant and inquisitive questions, and her tiresome enthusiasm for piggybacks.

Clarke felt horrible about the accident. She cried when Bellamy started cursing about how it was _her_ stupid scooter he’d fallen over, whilst nursing the gruesome graze down his knee and shin. Octavia had been very _Octavia_ about it, antagonising her older brother and huffing about how he should instead _maybe be more careful._

After running tearfully back home – the Griffin’s lived a few blocks away – Clarke returned with her prized Finding Nemo plasters. They were light blue with the characters on, and she’d picked out the Dory one, her favourite, to give to him. She found Aurora Blake tending to Bellamy’s graze in their kitchen, and nearly started burst into tears again. Clarke couldn't even make it up to him; his mom has beat her to it. Bellamy noticed her crestfallen, watery expression, and she watched him roll his eyes exasperatedly before holding out his hand to her.

Briskly wiping her tears away, Clarke rushed forward with the plaster, and Aurora kindly stepped aside, smiling at the 11 year old’s eagerness to make amends.

Clarke pressed the plaster to his now clean knee gently, soothing it down with her small palms.

“Thanks, Clarke.” he sighed, giving her a genuine smile.

“I’m sorry.” her bottom lip quivered, guilt washing over her again. Not a moment later, she was presented with an ice lolly.

Aurora Blake put a hand on Clarke's head, “here,” and handed her and her children all the icy treat, as a nifty diversion tactic.

The accident was put out of their minds, and Bellamy even humoured them with a game of marco polo, until his leg hurt too much. Even though it had been her fault, Clarke felt a swell of pride for attending to his wounds. She thought of her mom, who was a doctor, and wondered what she would say when she told her. She wondered if she’d be proud.

 

  
**August 23rd 2009**

 

  
Clarke had moved into Octavia’s apartment about a month ago. Octavia shared the apartment with Bellamy - now a history postgraduate studying for his masters at Ark University, where Clarke also studied - and had kindly offered Clarke a home with them after her home conditions became insufferable. They were childhood friends, and the acceptance of her offer was easy and natural. The pair had spent years in their back gardens dreaming of moving in together, and they still lived in the same city; why not make it a reality?  
  
Bellamy had grown up to be everything and nothing she had expected. The Blake siblings were so strikingly similar, give or take a few differences such as their noses, and Bellamy’s darker skin tone (which would be expected of half siblings – Aurora’s genes must have been strong, though). It was also ridiculous how attractive he’d become, but Clarke probably should've guessed that too from how stunning Octavia had always been. And yes, Clarke may have had a crush on him when she was 13, but so did anyone who was friends with Octavia in high school and had just seen Bellamy around the Blake household. Did he ever wear a goddamn shirt?

Walking into the apartment on moving in day to see him in boxer shorts and a loose, shredded tank top, firm muscles on full display, was like stumbling into a badly written romance novel. This wasn't Nicholas Sparks; she had to get a grip.  
  
The master bedroom was spacious enough to be shared between her and Octavia, and Bellamy had his own room across the hall. This wasn't an issue until Octavia started seeing the bartender from their local spot, and Clarke started spending some nights sleeping on the couch, much to Bellamy’s amusement. They had a kitchen which overlooked the living room, and a bathroom that always seemed to be occupied despite only three people living there. Everything was very open plan, and Clarke loved it. The apartment had large windows, which let in natural sunlight. Or they _had_ , until someone had put up a huge billboard on the east side of the apartment, obstructing the view. At least Clarke knew the number to call if she needed to make an insurance claim.  
  
Clarke had felt tranquil and at ease on Friday night, until Bellamy stumbled home, looking like he'd lost several fights. She’d been curled up on the sofa watching sitcom reruns, under several blankets and cradling a bowl of popcorn. Octavia was staying at her boyfriend’s (the bartender) house, and she had been under the impression that Bellamy was at a club somewhere in town. But suddenly he was very loudly and clumsily barging in through the front door, dishevelled as all hell.  
  
He looked like shit. His face was swelling with cuts and bruises of varying sizes and shapes, and was covered with dried blood and dirt. He was also still definitely drunk. Clarke was speechless as his eyes found hers, and he looked at her somewhat apologetically.  
  
“Fuck, Bellamy.” Panic rose in her. “What happened?” She nearly tipped the popcorn over as she practically vaulted over the couch to get to him. Her hand rose in a gesture to touch his face, but thought better of it, and retracted her hand at the last minute. He didn't seem to notice, but Clarke could feel her cheeks flush.  
  
She used a light hand on his back to steer him towards a seat. Bellamy winced as he hauled himself onto a stool at the counter in the kitchen. He stayed stubbornly quiet, staring at anything other than Clarke. She sighed before retrieving a cloth from under the sink, soaked it and offered it to him, suggesting wordlessly that he clean up. He stared at it, making no move to take it from her, or do anything else for that matter.  
  
“Okay, fine.” Clarke huffed, taking a hesitant step towards him so she was close enough to use the cloth to brush his face. She dabbed at the blood and dirt, not wanting to hurt him by applying too much pressure – and uncertain of the closeness of her actions. He didn't object; his eyes closed as he tried not to flinch when she touched a cut or bruise, but he leaned into her care.  
  
The med kit she kept in the bathroom cabinet had finally come in handy. Octavia had rolled her eyes when Clarke had moved it in with her belongings, because “ _they could take care of themselves_ ”. She’d always had one handy anyway, in the hopes that she'd be able to use it as practice one day. As a med student, putting theory to practice was always useful. Surprisingly, neither Blake siblings had fucked themselves up too bad in the month since she'd moved in, except a plaster here and there. They both had notoriously unruly tempers. It seemed like Bellamy needed a little more than a plaster now.  
  
She took her time and cleaned his face, adding a salve to the open cuts, her touch feather light as she applied it on his cheekbones and temples. His right ankle was pretty badly sprained, but there wasn't much Clarke could help him with to fix that other than act as a human crutch to get him into his bed and offer him an ice pack.  
  
His arm wrapped around her shoulders as she helped him up, and Clarke found herself not really minding how tight he gripped her. There was something intimate about patching him up – especially without Octavia present. Clarke had always liked taking care of people, and she usually did it almost instinctively. There was a different feeling when she was patching up Bellamy; when it was her hands healing him. Maybe it was her preconceptions of him as the tough older brother, who was intimidating and closed off. His vulnerability had unexpectedly thrown her off.  
  
She tried to help him into bed, but he brushed her off with a noncommittal grunt, as if he didn't need her assistance.  
  
As she was leaving the room, she heard him drowsily call her name, and a mumbled “thank you.” She hesitated in the doorway for a moment, glad her back was to him so he didn't see the small smile on her face. Clarke closed the door behind her.

 

**October 31st 2009**

  
  
Clarke had been studying in her bedroom for nearly an hour when a clamour of noise erupted in the living room. The front door had burst open then abruptly slammed shut. Clarke could make out the Blake siblings squabbling in the hall, and she tried – and failed – to resist eavesdropping. The clock on her desk read nearly ten in the evening, so it was hardly that late for a Saturday night. She’d been told that they were going out, so why were they back so early? It was Halloween after all. Clarke was used to Bellamy dragging Octavia home over his shoulder, and spending the evening holding his sisters’ hair back as she threw up in their toilet (and various other places around the house).  
  
“Clarke!” Octavia practically screamed, “get out here.”  
  
“What if she’s asleep?” She heard Bellamy hiss as Clarke crept out of her bedroom.  
  
“Bell, I've known Clarke to stay up studying until 4am for, like, _fun_.”  
  
“We shouldn’t bother her-”  
  
A creaky floorboard gave her away as she hovered just out of sight in her doorway, and both dark heads of hair whipped around to find her instantly.  
  
“Oh my god, Clarke, look what this _dumbass_ has done now.” Octavia moaned exasperatedly. She was stood by the sink, running a cloth under cold water whilst Bellamy sat on the couch, wincing in pain. His forehead was bleeding, and a bruise was blossoming around his left eye.  
  
“What the hell happened?” Clarke sputtered, running over to Bellamy.  
  
Octavia began cleaning the dirt and blood from Bellamy’s head, but her movements were unstable and Clarke sensed quickly that the younger Blake was probably too drunk to be a caregiver right now.  
  
“Dumbass...defending my “ _honour_ ”...could’ve kicked his-”  
  
“Some creep was hitting on O, all I did was tell him to back off.” Bellamy flinched away from his sisters’ touch when she pressed too hard against the open wound, trying to swat her away. Both of them were dressed up for Halloween; Octavia as Catwoman, Bellamy in a half arsed zombie costume, which meant his injuries just seemed to blend in.  
  
“Which I didn't _need_ you to do!” She complained, throwing the cloth down on the table, “I can take care of myself, Bell!”  
  
Before Bellamy could play up the big brother act further, Octavia was storming off to their bedroom, nearly falling over herself in her ridiculously tall high heels. The bedroom door was violently shut, only to be thrown open moments later as Octavia sprinted for the bathroom. Retching could be heard soon after.  
  
“You should probably go see if she’s okay.” Bellamy suggested, his gruff and protective persona going up. Clarke rolled her eyes.  
  
“I’ll wash her hair and put her to bed in a minute. The gash on your head is concerning me a little more right now. It’s pretty nasty, it could get infected, and scar.”  
  
“Scar? Sounds pretty badass.” He chuckled before wincing as Clarke touched it again.  
  
Clarke shook her head, “stay right here.”  
  
“I’m not going anywhere, it’s my apartment too, you know!” He called after her as Clarke ran into the bathroom. Octavia was leaning against the bathtub, looking half asleep and a little bedraggled. She grabbed the med kit from the cabinet, cleaned up Octavia’s face and sat her comfortably upright, before returning to Bellamy brandishing the utensils to fix his wound.  
  
She worked on his skin gently, trying to focus on the cut rather than his eyes fixed on her. It would be easier to help him if he weren’t making it so damn distracting. Clarke had tried to keep a reasonable distance from him since the last time she patched him up, not welcoming the feelings and thoughts he’d stirred inside her. Clarke wasn’t sure this counted as “reasonable distance”.  
  
“What does the other guy look like?” She asked jokingly, breaking the silence.  
  
Bellamy scoffed, “worse, trust me.”  
  
“You’re ridiculous. You could’ve gotten seriously hurt.” She rubbed a cream on his smaller grazes and cuts, touching his cheek, his chin, his neck. Almost every area was scratched from his brawl. He had so many goddamn scars, but his skin was still beautiful. “You’re obviously in need of an ego check.”  
  
“Thanks, Princess, but I actually enjoy getting into fights with strangers,” he deadpanned, “really fuels my hypermasculinity.”  
  
“Wouldn’t surprise me.” She muttered, ripping open a large plaster and smoothing it down over the bigger gash. “Done. Don’t sleep on your left side. And let this be the last time.”  
  
“Thanks, doc. C’mon,” he grinned, “you enjoy patching me up.”  
  
Clarke was caught off guard, and floundered for words for a moment. Maybe if it wasn't so true, she wouldn't be making a fool of herself. Bellamy’s smile just widened at the silence as he hauled himself off the sofa.  
  
“Night, princess. Thanks, again.” As he passed her to get to the bedroom, his hand brushed ever so gently against hers, a tender and subtle gesture of thanks. Clarke could feel her skin goose bump. When he’d left, she huffed and returned to the bathroom in order to help Octavia into bed.  
  
She dreamed of him.

 

**December 6th 2009**

  
  
“You're wrong. I could totally beat you at push ups. I can do like, 30 in a minute – _easy_. 40 if I’m listening to dubstep at the same time.”  
  
Murphy nearly spat out his drink, and Clarke snorted as Jasper barrelled on drunkenly about how he could beat Bellamy in “like, 67% of sports.”  
  
They were sat in a booth at their favourite bar; Clarke and Bellamy, Raven, Octavia, Murphy and Monty, Jasper, Miller and Harper. Everyone was to some degree intoxicated, except Monty who wasn't drinking, and with Clarke probably being the most sober. It was supposed to be a celebration meal of sorts; Clarke was doing some work experience at Ark Hospital, and had been highly praised in a recent session with a patient. Octavia demanded they all go out for drinks.  
  
“Jasper, I could snap you in half, like a twig.” Raven scoffed.  
  
Miller got up to order another round of drinks for everyone, leaving no obstruction between Bellamy and Clarke. She'd never felt embarrassed or self-conscious around him until recently, and tonight it was taking every sober fibre of her being to not fidget over his increased proximity. Clarke didn't even care he wasn't looking at her, but was instead engaged in conversation with Jasper. His side profile was a damn work at art.  
  
She snapped herself out of it, focusing on the sweet potato fries they'd ordered earlier that were now cold. Raven’s leg kicked her under the table.  
  
“You okay?” she mouthed quietly.  
  
Clarke shrugged and smiled, “just tired, you know.” she muttered back, forcing a smile. It wasn't the full truth, but college and work (and Bellamy) were really fucking with her sleeping pattern recently. Raven obviously didn't buy it, but let it drop. She could read Clarke better than anyone, even better than Octavia, who was sometimes too absorbed in her own steady stream of drama.  
  
Octavia had left the booth to dance with some strangers on the dance floor, to a song that Clarke was sick of hearing on the radio. When Miller returned carrying the tray of drinks, he took a seat at the end of the booth beside Jasper, rather than reclaiming his seat in the middle. Bellamy was forced to shuffle down towards Clarke, pinning her between himself and the wall.  
  
Clarke reached forward and grabbed the piña colada she’d ordered, and drank it as fast as she could. Both Monty and Raven were staring at her with raised brows, but Clarke needed the faux confidence boost.  
  
“I’m just so thirsty,” she laughed it off, “if you like piña coladas, right?”  
  
“And getting caught in the rain?” Bellamy suggested with a smirk, exposing his love for the cheesy hits of the 80s.  
  
“IF YOU LIKE MAKING LOVE AT MIDNIGHT-” Jasper tried to stand up at the table as he butchered the song, but Murphy was there to physically and verbally drag him back down.  
  
“Yeah, enough alcohol for you.” he cocked a brow at Jasper, who clutched his drink tighter in defence.  
  
Clarke needed to move; to escape from the booth. “I want to dance. Anyone want to dance? Raven? Harper?” she didn't wait for an answer, “okay, thanks!”  
  
The boys beside her looked bemused, but shuffled along obediently so Clarke could slip out and stumble out onto the dance floor. The song was changing, morphing into an even more upbeat pop song, something by The Black Eyed Peas. Octavia was grinding up against an older guy on her left, and even Raven was getting into it.  
  
Clarke tried to let the alcohol remove her inhibitions and worries, so she could relax and dance in time with the rhythm. Bellamy was out of sight, out of mind, until he wasn't. Until he was across from her on the floor, rolling his hips up against the backside of a pretty brunette. So much for relaxation. It was _Bellamy_ ; the jealousy she felt made her irrationally angry. He was a player, the king of one night stands. It was Bellamy.

The next few moments were hard to comprehend between her intoxication and trying to focus on anything other than one of her best friend’s brother. She registered the following scene in snapshots: another girl approached Bellamy, threw a punch at him, Bellamy fell into the couple behind him, angering the man and resulting in chaos ensuing. Clarke watched in shock as Octavia and Miller barreled over to restrain Bellamy, who’d risen to the challenge and was pummeling - whilst simultaneously getting pummeled by - the surly guy who probably reached over 6ft. A crowd was gathering, the cheers and shouts only filling Bellamy with more reckless adrenaline. Blood was beginning to spill from his mouth as he took hit after hit.

“Enough!” Clarke screamed, sliding herself in between the two and to face Bellamy, who had his fist raised back for a punch. For a second, she worried he might have punched her, too wrapped up in the fight to recognise her. But his facial expression softened when he met her eyes, his stance weakening. Their friends took the slip to pull Bellamy out of the rabble. The guy who he’d been fighting didn’t persist, perhaps satisfied with the damage caused. He was certainly better off than Bellamy. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_ , she cried in her mind, _stupid reckless idiot._ As they dragged him out, Clarke heard the voice of woman who’d originally punched him yell “manslut!” after them.

Bellamy gave up the fight once they got to the parking lot, and Monty ran ahead to open the backseat door for them to haul Bellamy in. Raven was ranting to Harper about the fiasco, Jasper was still raving about god-knows-what, and Murphy looked completely unbothered.

Monty hopped into the driver's seat, Harper riding shotgun and Clarke in the back beside Bellamy. The others took a different car, agreeing to meet back up at Clarke and The Blake’s apartment.

“Clarke,” Bellamy groaned, clutching his side, “I’m sorry.”

She stared at him, “why?”

“Your thing.” He was probably referencing the fact that they'd gone out to celebrate her.

Clarke kissed her teeth, “I honestly don't care, Bellamy. It’s not a big deal.”

“But it was _your thing_. I ruined it. You work so hard, and you're always so stressed and you _needed_ this-”

“He’s still drunk isn't he?” Harper sighed, turning to the back to give Clarke a sad look.

“No.” Bellamy grumbled defiantly, before uttering something under his breath. She rolled her eyes, and was thankful that the dark hid the smile she couldn't repress.

The fight had sobered her up significantly. When they got to their apartment, no one else had arrived yet. Monty helped Clarke get him into the elevator, and shut him up when he tried to get them to sing along to a drinking song. He was a battered mess who needed sleep, and to be taken care of.

Hauling Bellamy into bed was a whole other situation. It took all three of them to get him in, and it wasn't peaceful. Bellamy's room was far tidier than he'd have you expect; the bed was always made, his array of books alphabetically ordered, and his clothes were sorted into different organised compartments. It made Octavia and Clarke’s room look like an overcrowded charity shop.

“Can you grab the med kit? It’s in the bathroom cabinet, it’s green.” she asked of Harper, who was staring with concern at Bellamy but nodded.

“Patch him up many times before?” Monty raised a brow.

“Just a few.” Clarke sighed, brushing Bellamy’s hair out of his face. As soon as he’d hit the pillow, all his fight had deteriorated, and he was drifting off into dazed sleep.

Her jacket pocket buzzed; it was a text from Octavia.

_**O** : some kind of accident on the road, we may be a while. u ok with bell 4 now??_

Clarke almost laughed.

_**Clarke** : I think I’ll cope_

Her friends let Clarke work, and she gave them free reign of the kitchen and its contents. She cleaned Bellamy up, taking her time to make sure his wounds were disinfected, and she’d got most of the blood out of his hair with a washcloth. His mumbling had stopped, and had actually seemed to relax, other than a wince or flinch when she pressed too hard over a delicate point.

Clarke felt like she was only a step away from actually kissing his wounds better, which was ridiculous. And embarrassing. She definitely didn't want to kiss him.

Bellamy’s nose scrunched as he adjusted himself in bed, shaking the dark freckles on his nose and cheeks. He let out a gentle moan, and Clarke let her touch linger on his jaw. She _didn't_ want to kiss him. She didn't. _Stupid reckless idiot_ , her mind repeated, and she wasn’t sure if she was referencing Bellamy or herself.

“I don't deserve you.” he murmured, eyes closed.

Clarke stared at him, stunned and at loss for words. “Shut up, Blake.” Her words had no bite.

“You take care of me when you shouldn’t-you shouldn’t _need_ to,” He took no notice of her, mumbling on, “you're not like anyone else.”

“Octavia has always been there for take care of you. She’s your sister.”

“That's different,” he insisted, his eyes still shut. “You take care of _so_ many people, who takes care of _you_?”

Clarke scoffed, collecting up the dirty tissues and wipes she’d used to clean him so she wouldn't spend more time staring at his face when he couldn't see her. “That's a line straight from just, like, a _million_ films.”

“But you like it.” Bellamy opened one eye to look up at her, “I see you watching those cheesy, black and white romance films on Sunday afternoons. You're not slick.”

Heat was creeping up her cheeks, and she abruptly stood up from the bed.

“You're all cleaned up. I better check on Monty and Harper, the others will be here soon.” She dismissed, escaping towards the bedroom door.

“I remember the Finding Nemo plaster,” she heard him mumble with a laugh as her hand met the doorknob, freezing her to it.

Clarke’s turned around, eyes wide. “You do?” That was so long ago now, back when Clarke was an irritating know-it-all 11 year old, and Bellamy wasn't much better. Her cheeks were _really_ flushed now.

But Bellamy had drifted into sleep, leaving her with the memories of their childhood together; her old scooter and the plaster she’d ran all the way home to get _just_ for him. The memory made her smile uncontrollably, at her naivety and at Bellamy’s going along with it all.

When she was tucked into bed that night, she pulled open her laptop and looked for Finding Nemo plasters on Amazon.

 

  
**December 31st 2009**

 

  
“Have you seen Bellamy?” Clarke called over the top of the music, reaching down to shout into Monty’s ear. He shrugged apologetically, before turning back to his conversation with Harper, who had a particularly friendly arm around his shoulders.

She huffed, looking around the apartment in dismay, feeling sure she’d seen him only 10 minutes ago. They’d invited a _few_ friends round for New Years Eve drinks, which had obviously turned into a full blown party somewhere along the line.There was a couple getting busy in Bellamy’s bedroom right now, which was obviously the reason she was searching for him. It had absolutely nothing to do with the countdown to midnight growing closer. Absolutely nothing.

Frustratedly, Clarke whipped out her phone to send him a text.

_**Clarke** : where r u?? i need someone to glance @ when other ppl annoy me. and someone’s about 2 have sex in ur bed_

She waited a moment.

_**Clarke** : AND i don't fancy being around anyone i actually like rn, don't get cocky_

Her wristwatch read 11:39pm. The dress Octavia had coaxed her into was proving a pain, as she had to pull down the hem and up the front of it every 5 minutes.

“Hey there, princess, everything okay?” Raven had a drink in each hand, and Clarke accepted one gratefully.

“Fine. Fine, fine.” She exhaled exasperatedly. “Have you seen Bell?”

Raven’s mouth twitched into a grin, “why?”

Clarke felt stumped under Raven’s quizzical look, as if she knew more about something than Clarke did. It was an uneasy smile. “I have something to talk to him about-”

“What?” Raven pushed, the grin never leaving her face.

“There's-theres, uh, this couple in his bedroom-”

“And you want to kick them out? So you and him can go in there and fu-”

“Raven!” Clarke cried, slapping a hand over the other girl's mouth. “Obviously not! What the fuck?”

The engineer broke out into fits of drunken laughter, and pulled a dumb struck Clarke into her tight embrace.

“I love you so much, Clarke. But sometimes you're so _stupid_.” She giggled into her friends neck with a sigh. “Oh, there’s Wick! Wick, wait up!”

Clarke was left frowning and annoyed, with 15 minutes ticking down until midnight. She’d got defeatedly comfy on the couch, beside a passed out Miller and a typically hyperactive Jasper, when her phone vibrated.

_**Bell** : I’m flattered, honoured actually. You should be too. You know how much I hate texting. I’ll be with you soon, is everything okay?_

The way he texted in full sentences and standard English was just so Bellamy. Clarke had given him a texting slang run down when he’d first gotten a phone, but it had gone in one ear and out the other.

Their apartment was growing more rowdy, until someone suggested they move up to the roof for a better view of the fireworks, which was met with applause and cheers. Clarke was still scanning every face for Bellamy.

10 minutes until midnight.

She shrugged on a jacket and followed everyone up to the top of the apartment building. Other residents had clearly had a similar idea, and didn't look too happy with their massive group invading. A couple she recognised from the floor below even had deck chairs out. Octavia sidled up to her, sliding her chilly hand into Clarke’s and squeezing.

“You've been, like, mentally elsewhere all night. What's up?”

“Nothing, promise,” Clarke shrugged, trying to reassure Octavia with a smile. She hoped that Octavia was intoxicated and kind enough to not call her out on her lies tonight. “Where’s Lincoln?”

Octavia grinned, practically glowing at the mention of his name. “Grabbing another drink. I know we’ve been on and off for a while, but I want to tell him I love him – at midnight. Is that cheesy? That’s cheesy, right?”

“No.” she shook her head. Octavia was fond of the dramatics. “I think that’s perfect, it’s obvious he loves you, O. He’s basically obsessed with you”

“Oh, I know.” Octavia laughed shortly, throwing her head back. Clarke wished she had that confidence, she wished she was confident in how others felt about her.

(How one person felt about her.)

5 minutes to midnight. Lincoln rejoined Octavia, and they watched as some people set off their fireworks early, illuminating the sky with vibrant reds, greens and yellows.

As Clarke turned to talk to Jasper, she saw him, just across the roof, stood side by side with a young woman. Her arm was slung over his shoulder, her fingers wrapping around the curls of his hair. Bellamy had his hands in his pockets, and was chatting happily to a guy Clarke didn't recognise. She felt her stomach sink, and couldn't even pretend to care about what Jasper was saying.

“Clarke, hey. Earth to Clarke!” Jasper sang, pushing her shoulder gently. He followed her eyeliner to where Bellamy stood, and his mouth dropped to an O shape. “Look, Clarke-”

“Two minutes!” Someone shouted above the noise.

She pushed her way through the crowd to one edge of the roof where only a few people stood, looking out at the city that was home; that had been home her whole life. _Don’t cry, it’s a New Year, it’s a fresh start. Don’t cry._

The countdown began, and Clarke forced herself to face her friends again just in time to notice someone pushing through them, heading towards her. Bellamy was parting the crowd like goddamn Moses, beelining straight for Clarke with his mouth tugged into a smile. Without thinking, she began stalking towards him, bound to meet in the middle. Her mind screamed “this is it” as her friends counted down the numbers until 2010 around her, unaware of Bellamy and Clarke’s collision course.

“Ten, nine, eight-” a guy to Bellamy’s left swung his arm up, attempting to raise his cup to the sky. The actual outcome of his action was a connection between his arm and Bellamy’s face.

Clarke stared helplessly as Bellamy was knocked backwards in slow motion, tripping over the various feet of the crowd and going down.

“-seven, six, five-”

His body hit the gravel of the roof, and the ominous drink in the guys hand spilled from the cup and splattered all over Bellamy.

“-four, three, two-”

The sound of fireworks burst into the sky.

“-one, zero!” A chorus of Happy New Year’s rang in time with the blasts, just as Clarke collapsed on the floor beside Bellamy.

A graze on his cheek from the gravel was beginning to produce droplets of blood, and he looked mildly dazed.

“Did I miss it?” He asked, holding a hand to his head, whilst trying – and failing – to get back on his feet.

Clarke let out a scoff, which descended ridiculously into contagious and uncontrollable laughing, at the goddamn absurdity of the whole thing.

Bellamy frowned, “why are you laughing? Did I miss it?”

“I think you have a concussion.” She said breathlessly, stroking a hand along the cheek that hadn't been grazed. “Let’s go fix you up.”

 

  
**March 8th 2010**

 

  
“ _Clarke?_ ”

She flinched at the voice, regretfully recognising it instantly. _This isn't happening, he isn't here._

“Clarke, hey.” He called out again, approaching their table.

By the window of Grounders, Clarke sat nursing a large cup of coffee, with Bellamy across from her drinking some kind of herbal tea. They’d escaped to the coffee shop to get away from Lincoln and Octavia taking over the apartment for a few hours. He stared with bemusement at the guy approaching them suddenly, looking between him and Clarke.

“Uh, hi.” Clarke’s voice came out a decimal quieter than she intended when she brought herself to look at the guy who’d cheated on and lied to her last summer, leaving her torn up and damaged. He looked the same, and it made her so angry. Finn still had a faux casual air to his demeanour, and was actually smiling at her – had the audacity to smile in her direction.

“So weird seeing you here,” he chuckled, as if she hadn't been the one to take him to Grounders for the first time. “How’s it going?”

She fiddled with the teaspoon in her coffee, “fine.”

Finn didn't wait for her to ask him; “yeah, me too. Actually, I dropped out of college. Pursuing more fulfilling aspirations now, you know? College was really...uh... _oppressing_ me. If you get me.”

Opposite her, Bellamy flashed her a subtle _who-is-this-douche?_ look.

“Bellamy, this is Finn.” Clarke introduced quietly, avoiding both their eyes. She saw Bellamy’s jaw clench in her peripheral, as Finn turned his attention from Clarke to him. He frowned at Bellamy, who met him with a stony gaze.

Bellamy knew all about Finn, mostly by accident. When the fiasco with him had happened, it was before Octavia had offered Clarke a place in their apartment. Despite that, Clarke spent most of her time at their apartment anyway; she was practically already living there, she even kept clothes in Octavia’s wardrobe. The night Clarke put the pieces together and found out she was playing The Other Woman with Finn to Raven Reyes – now one of her closest friends – she’d broke down at the Blake’s home. Everything spilled out as she vented to the siblings; the way he treated her that she’d convinced herself was okay, the manipulation, the fights, the lies. Clarke had never let anyone in the way she’d let in Finn.

He frowned at Bellamy, before turning back to her. “Is this-is he your-”

“Yes.” Bellamy stopped Finn in his tracks, never losing eye contact with the other guy. Clarke was instantly taken aback, but the look on Finn’s face was picture perfect. “Don't talk about me as if I’m not here.”

“Sorry, man.” Finn raised his hands in lock surrender. Clarke didn’t like the look on his face. “You just don't seem like Clarke’s type.”

She rose from her seat, “what would know about my _type?_ ” She spat, staring at him incredulously.

The change in her voice and body language obviously caught Finn off guard, but he didn’t need long to recover. “Just didn’t think you dated obnoxious dickheads, Clarke.” He looked pointedly at Bellamy, but as if it were just Clarke and Finn in on the conversation. As if they were sharing an inside joke.

Something abruptly came over her, coursing through her veins and moving Clarke to swing her fist in Finn’s direction. She collided with the right of his face, knocking him back into the table behind him where a two people sat. _That felt good, that felt so good_ , were the first thoughts running through her mind. The excitement fizzled quickly into pain, and she flinched as she retracted her now bruised fist back to her side.

Hands gripped her shoulders, attempting to steer her away from the scene she just caused. Finn was holding a hand to his shocked face, blood leaking through his fingers from his nose. The baristas were staring in horror at the trio, and Clarke now felt ashamed – they were regulars, would they ever be let back in? One look back at Finn convinced her she didn’t care. Months of tearing herself apart over him suddenly felt much, much smaller.

Bellamy dragged Clarke out of the coffee shop, holding her good hand in his as he steered them towards his car parked around the corner.

“Fuck,” she finally exhaled as she leaned against the hood, “ _fuck_.”

“Are you okay?” His eyes cried concern – his hand was still in hers, but holding it in a looser grip – as he stood in front of her.

Clarke nodded slowly. “That was… therapeutic. Is it always that good? Is there always that much adrenaline? If it didn't hurt so much I could go for round two.”

Bellamy couldn't conceal a smirk, “let’s not make it a habit, Princess.”

“You didn't have to do that, by the way.”

He frowned, “do what?”

“Pretend to be my boyfriend.” It came out sheepishly, Clarke suddenly awkward under the proximity of his body and the suggestion of Bellamy as her boyfriend.

He pushed himself away from the hood with a laugh, opening the car door for her. She raised an eyebrow at him, but climbed compliantly into the shotgun seat. No explanation was offered the whole way home. Clarke cradled her aching fist, wishing she could replay the look on Finn’s face all over again. She couldn't wait to tell Raven.

Octavia wasn't home when they burst into the apartment, and Clarke was further baffled as Bellamy charged ahead of her into the kitchen. She watched him scrabble about, just to produce an ice pack wrapped in a tea towel.

“Sit.” He asked, and Clarke complied, taking a place on the couch. Bellamy sat beside her and took her injured hand between his, applying the ice pack on top gently and holding it there. The warmth of his palm against hers contrasted the numbing coolness of the pack on the back of her hand.

“Oh, how the tables have turned.” She sighed with a short laugh. Bellamy’s fingers restlessly traced patterns against hers as he stared adamantly worriedly at the ice pack. “Bell?”

“Hm?” His head flicked up, meeting her gaze with eyes softer than she’d ever seen from him.

“What's going on? You're being all weird on me.”

He averted his eyes again. “Just taking care of you. I owe it to you.”

Clarke shook her head, “you take care of me practically everyday. We take care of each other. In small, not insignificant ways, you know?” Bellamy stayed silent. “ _Bell_ -”

“I felt like such a pain the first time you cleaned me up. When was that? August last year?” _No, we were just kids_. “I nearly bought you a card to say sorry for the inconvenience. The second time I felt ridiculous. The more times I ended up in your-your consistent and patient care, the quicker I realised something. You _like_ taking care of me. Now, I'm not saying you're a sadist-”

Clarke used her free hand to punch him in the shoulder, “oh my god, shut up.”

He chuckled, “I’m _not_ ,” she wished she could wipe the smirk off his face, “ _I_ think, you like it because…” Clarke froze as he put the ice pack to the side, so he was able to touch her face, lingering on her cheek and jawline. She held her breath; he was getting closer, dark curls obscuring darker eyes. “You like doing _this_.” His hands roamed down her neck, to her shoulders and collarbones, tickling her gently.

Slowly, his head ducked down, pressing a kiss to her bruised fist, making her hiss quietly. Bellamy’s lips peppered kisses back up her body, retracing where his fingers had been, as if they'd planned a map.

“I think you _want_ to do this.” He placed a kiss to her cheekbone, his knees pushing against hers to lessen the space between them. “ _And_ this.”

He tasted better than she could've ever imagined – and Clarke had imagined many, _many_ times in recent. She almost forgot the pain in her fist as his body pinned her against the back of the couch, hands eager to explore the underside of her shirt.

“Fuck you.” She laughed breathlessly against his kiss, because god damn it, he was right. He was _so_ right.

“If you insist.” He muttered, as if it wasn't the most cliche response in the world. But Clarke melted, letting him push her further and further down, so she sunk willingly into the cushions of the couch.

Bellamy’s hands worked to pull off her jeans, his lips on her midriff. His teeth grazed her thighs when she was free of the tight denim, sucking down hard and promising to leave bruises in the morning. Clarke didn't even care that she had the most mundane underwear on, because it wasn't there for much longer, getting quickly discarded elsewhere in the room.

His name rolled off her tongue like a mantra as he got a better taste of her, Clarke’s hands wrapped in his tightly locks. Her hips bucked, begging for him to be closer. She hadn't even got his shirt off yet, and she was already getting  _this_ hot and bothered.

After pulling him back up to her, Clarke tugged his top off his shoulders, almost ripping it with eagerness. She’d seen him shirtless a countless amount of times, but now she could marvel at his body without shame or embarrassment. She recognised some of the scars mapped all over him as ones she’d helped patch up, now pale red and healing.

He flipped them around with his arm securely around her waist, allowing Clarke to straddle herself across his lap. For every scar, she planted a kiss, thinking _this is what I wanted to do, but any excuse to touch you is a good excuse._

“Wow,” he whispered breathlessly in her ear, sarcasm tainting his tone, “are you training to be a doctor? I can tell.”

“I hate you.” She mumbled against the crook of her neck. Clarke rocked slowly against him in only her shirt, relishing in the friction where she could feel his hard on, but _needing_ him to take his pants off.

“Hate sex? Can't wait.”

“You do make it hard, Bell– _Oh_.” His fingers moved to replace where his mouth had been at her clit before, dipping into her. “ _Harder_. Fuck.”

She could feel a heat pooling intensely in her stomach, when they both heard the key in the front door. Bellamy froze, his fingers still inside her, Clarke’s head buried in his neck.

“Shit.”

They scrambled apart, Clarke reaching desperately for her underwear which was now closer to the TV. Bellamy wriggled into his shirt, throwing Clarke her jeans and trying to neaten the couch back up.

Within seconds, Octavia entered, carrying shopping bags and frowning at the pair.

“Hi,” she squinted her eyes suspiciously, “is everything…okay?”

Bellamy and Clarke were sat on opposite ends of the couch, staring at the younger Blake stood by the door. They both nodded over enthusiastically. Clarke’s jeans were over her legs like a blanket.

Octavia broke into a grin, dropping all her bags to floor. “Finally!” She screamed, causing Bellamy to share a _what-the-fuck_ look with Clarke. “You guys got together, right? _Right?_ ” She was basically cackling, hurrying to pull out her mobile phone. “I have to call Raven.”

“Octavia-” Bellamy’s stern voice attempted to command her attention, but his sister was already on the phone to the engineer. Surprisingly, Clarke was filled with the urge to laugh bubbling in her throat. She clasped her hand to her mouth to suppress it, but Bellamy’s bemused expression only made it harder.

“Raven, it happened. Yes, it. I know! I just came in, they have that _just-fucked_ kind of hair-”

Clarke collapsed into helpless, breathless laughter. It didn't take long for Bellamy to be infected with her contagious humour. He shuffled back over to her, pulling her down unashamedly to meet his lips.

“I wish we'd done that earlier.” She sighed, their foreheads resting against each other.

“I would've, if I hadn't of been rudely and abruptly sabotaged on New Years Eve.”

Clarke’s smile cracked wider, “I would've liked that.” She kissed him again, savouring it by taking his lower lip between her teeth gently. “I like this too, though, I guess.”

She could get used to kissing him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> catch me on tumblr! stacygwehn.tumblr.com  
> Kudos and comments make my whole day and fuel me, I love hearing your thoughts!  
> Thank you sm for reading :))


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